The Five Year Arrangement
by Heimarmene
Summary: Hermione had it all planned out. She'd marry Ron at thirty. Maybe have a baby at thirty-two. Malfoy would be rotting away in prison. But when the Ministry unveils a new law, Hermione finds herself unshakably bound to her very worst enemy...in marriage.
1. Prologue

**HEYYYY GUYS. So I lost the plot for Journey of a Thousand Miles, but this is sorta something like it. Hope you enjoy :)**

_()()()_

"Ms Jones."

"Minister."

For a moment, they merely looked at each other from opposite sides of the great oak desk. Then she began to laugh at the absurdity of it, the formality. After a moment, his chuckles joined hers.

"Ah, old friend," she said once they'd stopped, "it's good to see you again. You know, when we're not in hiding and trying to stop a war."

"Sometimes I think the Order was the only thing that made us all friends," he said thoughtfully.

"Last week I tried to owl Sirius, to tell him how my niece is doing – things that Reg would've wanted to know. Then – " her voice cracked. "Then I remembered that it's over. There's nothing left to fight for."

_()()()_

**Really short and doesn't really have all that much to do with the story. Oh well. Stay tuned :)**


	2. Eight Periwinkle Letters

…**hey :)**

**A NOTE:**

**This story is set in "our time", so around 2012 or so. Therefore, Harry/Hermione/Ron would've been born in 1993 since they're nineteen at the beginning. This means that everything else – the marauders, etc. – have been moved up too. Sorry in advance for all the screwy dates, but that's why they won't make sense!**

_()()()_

Summer was Hermione Granger's absolute favourite season. Summer meant normalcy. Summer meant not waking up everyday and hoping Death Eaters hadn't snuck into your room during the night. Summer meant freedom.

And Hermione liked freedom very much. She was nineteen years old – an independent witch who'd graduated Hogwarts last June with high honors. Life was perfect.

"Can you believe it, Hermione?" Harry's voice floated over to her from where he lounged in the grass. "In a few weeks, we'll have been out of Hogwarts for a whole year. No evil plans foiled, no six-foot essays from Snape." Hermione snorted in response. "No more insane Death Eaters chasing us, no more batty predictions from Trelawney…I don't quite know what to do with myself anymore!"

"You could let me teach you Quidditch," Harry offered slyly. When Hermione balked, he snickered. "Relax. I doubt I could get you within ten feet of a broom, let alone on one."

"I don't like flying," Hermione said primly. "You could fall off and die. Or crash into something and die. Or fly into a storm – and die! Oh, honestly, Harry, grow up. It's not that astounding a theory."

Harry, by this point, was rolling around in the grass and laughing at his friend. "You've escaped Voldemort countless times, faced off against a werewolf, punched Draco Malfoy in the face, and you're afraid of dying by broom? Sometimes I really don't understand you, Hermione."

"I grew up as a Muggle," Hermione reminded him, a little miffed.

"So did I," he countered between chuckles.

"You had magical parentage, at least," she said shrilly. Harry pulled up a handful of long grass and threw it at her in response. Hermione shrieked. "Harry! Don't you dare throw that – dinner is in ten minutes, I don't want to be late – _Harry!_" Her yelp turned to one of surprise when a dandelion head hit her square in the center of her forehead. Harry grinned in smug satisfaction.

"So that's how you want to play it?" She pursed her lips and reached behind her. "Well, two can play at that game!"

When the pair entered the Burrow twenty minutes later, both covered head-to-toe in bits of grass and the occasional dandelion head, no one looked very surprised. The entire Weasley clan had been far more had been far more relaxed since Voldemort's defeat; in fact, Hermione thought, this was the most relaxed she'd ever seen them, period. Even Fleur had gotten off her high horse and wasn't demanding things be perfect and secure.

Picking clovers and leaves off each other, Harry and Hermione slid in between their friends happily. "Hi," Ron said between bites. "'Fere 'fer 'oo?" If there was one thing the war hadn't changed, it was Ron's lack of table manners, Hermione though fondly. "Chew with your mouth closed, Ronald, and don't speak until you've swallowed."

Ron made a big show of displaying the bite of chicken pot pie that he'd just shoved in his mouth before exaggeratedly swallowing and repeating his question. "Where were you? After mum made you wash the dishes, you two up and disappeared."

"We were by the pond," Harry said, piling mashed potatoes onto his already heaping plate. "Figured we'd drop in on Luna, but she was out, so we sat around, mostly."

"Besides, you were probably off taunting those poor gnomes," Hermione added. "Pass the rolls, Bill, thanks."

"Poor gnomes?" Ron spluttered. "Poor _gnomes_? Those foul little beasts are not _poor_ – "

"Ron," Hermione sighed.

"Well, I wasn't." Even though they all knew this to be false, Ron still adopted a look of offence. "I was…er…washing my socks?"

Beside her brother, Ginny rolled her eyes. "He was teasing the gnomes," she confirmed. "Spouting some rubbish about being their king because he's a Weasley."

"Thought you were over that, mate." Harry pointed his spoon at Ron over his bowl of soup.

"Yeah, well, they're gnomes," Ron sulked. "Bloody ugly gits if you ask me." Looking a little put out, he crammed a fistful of shelled prawns into his mouth. Hermione gagged slightly on her pumpkin juice. Molly, who happened to be passing by at the moment, swatted her son and proceeded to reprimand him in a way made Hermione thankful that her own mother's table lessons had stuck with her.

After the laughter had died down and Ron had begun eating in a fashion that at least resembled normal, the discussion turned to more banal topics. Ginny, who'd been a seventh year at the same time that Harry, Hermione and Ron had returned to repeat their seventh year, was in the middle of a very vocal complaint about the dimwitted Keeper her Quidditch team had recently acquired. The Holyhead Harpies were renowned for their stellar team kinship, and apparently one Miss Chloë Blanche did not take the idea of being friends with her teammates to heart. Ginny, as a result, was still steaming mad when the first of the eight owls swooped in through the open kitchen window.

The entire kitchen fell into a hush at the owl's appearance, which was quite a feat considering that it housed eleven adults, one extremely curious toddler, and an infant. An official-looking pale periwinkle envelope was attached to its leg with silver wire. At the head of the table, Hermione saw Arthur and Molly exchange a terrified look. When no one made a move to take the letter, the owl screeched irritably.

With shaking hands, Molly rose slowly and crossed the small space to the bird. Blinking impatiently, the owl lifted its leg for her, a look of utter boredom on its owlish face. The second the missive was removed, it flapped its wings in a very businesslike fashion and soared out the way it had come. Even little Teddy, only two years old, held his breath in anticipation as Molly turned the letter over.

"It's for you, Harry dear," she said quietly.

"Me?" Harry said, bewildered. "But I wasn't expecting any mail today, Mrs Weasley."

"You'll want to read this one, son," Arthur said gravely. "As soon as possible, I suspect."

"I think I'll save it for after dinner," Harry said, moving to tuck the letter into his robes. Bill, apparently having recognized the envelope's color as something extremely important, leaned across the table and caught Harry's arm. "Trust me, mate," he said in a low voice, "you want to read that letter right now."

"Er – alright, then," Harry said slowly. "I'll just be out in the garden if you need me." All eyes were glued to his back as he walked towards the back door. Hermione got up to follow him, but Mrs. Weasley placed a hand on her shoulder. "Just a moment, dear," she said softly. "I expect there'll be one for you as well."

On cue, two tawny barn owls glided in through the same window as the first owl. The larger of the two circled the room once before landing gently beside Hermione's plate. It ruffled its feathers in a cheerful manner as Hermione absently fed it a piece of her roll before detaching her own periwinkle letter. Across from her, Ron roughly tore the letter off his owl and received a series of affronted pecks for his manners.

"I know," Ginny said to the owl. "You'd think he was raised by wolves."

"Shuddit," Ron said to his sister, licking his fingers to remove the grease from the turkey leg he'd previously been tearing into. "Wonder who these are from. Bloody hell, you don't reckon they'll explode, eh, Charlie?"

A little disgusted, Hermione excused herself and hurried out the door after Harry, letter in hand. She found him at the other end of the garden, leaning against the trunk of a tree and watching the sun set. She slid down beside him. "Hey."

He glanced over at her. "Hey." He nodded at the letter in her hand, identical to his. "I haven't opened mine yet. To be honest, I'm a little afraid it's a Howler in disguise."

Hermione snorted. "I sincerely doubt _that_. If there's anything Molly's afraid of, it's most definitely not a Howler."

"Point taken." The fading sun glanced off Harry's glasses as he turned to grin at her. "We'll open it together, then. On three?"

"We should wait for Ron," Hermione interrupted. Harry raised his eyebrows. "Ron may be my best mate, but he's not one for togetherness," he said. "If I know Ron, he's gone to wallow upstairs in his room before reading his."

"I suppose," Hermione agreed. "On three."

"One," Harry said slowly.

"Two." Hermione squeezed her eyes closed and hesitantly stuck her finger beneath the flap on the back side of the envelope.

"Three."

In one swift motion, she tore the top off. Opening her eyes just the tiniest bit, she saw Harry had done the same to his. He was staring at the envelope's contents uncomprehendingly. Hermione reached into hers and drew out a crisply folded piece of parchment dyed the same pale periwinkle as the envelope. Wrinkling her nose a little at the color scheme, she unfolded it cautiously.

_Miss Hermione Jean Granger_

_The Burrow_

_Ottery St. Catchpole_

_Devon, England_

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_As you may know, the actions of the Second Wizarding War have left the wizarding population of Great Britain at an alarmingly low rate. In attempt to remedy the situation, the Ministry of Magic would like to announce a new law. The newly passed Bylaw 9,343 section 6a (Blood Regeneration Clause) states the following:_

_Due to a shortage of magical blood caused by Voldemort and his followers' killings in the war, every unmarried witch and/or wizard between the ages of seventeen and thirty under the rule of Minister for Magic Kingsley Eugene Bardrick Shacklebolt is henceforth required to marry a pre-selected partner of equal magical ability. To ensure the passing on of magical blood, it is mandatory that one magic-enabled child must be born to every coupling within five years of this marriage. After the allotted five years, all bonds of matrimony may be dissolved if wished. _

There was more to the letter, mostly instructions and such, but Hermione read with unseeing eyes. _Ministry of Magic would like to announce a new law… every unmarried witch and/or wizard… mandatory that one magic-enabled child must be born…signed, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic & Alethea Boot, Head of the Blood Regulation Control Department._

"My God," Harry said seconds later, having finished reading his letter right after her. Slack-jawed, they stared at each other in horrified silence. "My God," Hermione repeated softly.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU MEAN I HAVE TO GET MARRIED?" On cue, the famous Weasley roar floated out the open windows. Harry and Hermione shared a glance before bolting for the Burrow.

The kitchen was more or less how they'd left it. Now, though, both Ron and Ginny were clutching identical periwinkle letters, both red in the face and screaming. Charlie, Percy, George and Angelina all appeared to have received letters as well, though they were considerably less red. Baby Victoire was wailing – apparently Ginny's earlier yelling fit had woken her – as fleur frantically tried to hush her. Teddy, upon seeing Victoire cry, immediately burst into tears, which prompted Percy to start railing his sister about her inappropriate actions. Ron and Ginny were still screaming at each other, while Molly, George and Angelina Johnson were unsuccessfully trying to pry them apart.

"ENOUGH!"

The squabbles immediately stopped. Even Teddy's tears were shocked into stopping. Arthur Weasley was a peaceful man, but today he meant business. "Fleur," he said in a more normal voice, "please take Victoire and Teddy to the den. The rest of you, sit." As everyone hastily complied, he sighed wearily. "As you no doubt know by now, whether you've read your own letters or heard from Ginny, the Ministry had instated a marriage law. Again."

"Again?" a number of voices cried, with varying degrees of shock. Only Bill and Molly looked completely unsurprised. Percy, who prided himself on knowing every insignificant detail about the Ministry, actually fell off his chair. As George helped him up, Mr. Weasley continued gravely. "During the summer of 1982 – the height of the war – the Ministry issued a decree. All unmarried witches and wizards between the ages of seventeen and thirty were to be matched to a compatible partner by a designated Matcher and were to marry before the new year, and a child was to be brought forth within five years. This applied to all of Britain. They announced the law again in 1991, when they thought the war was about to get really bad again. In fact, many of your peers from Hogwarts have parents who were subjects of this law."

"But…you and mum…if you do the math…you should've been there too, during the first round," Charlie said slowly.

"You – mum – law?" Ron squeaked.

"Your mother and I were lucky," Arthur said, taking his wife's hand. "In 1982, a group of us found a loophole – if you were engaged to be married before the law had been passed, you and your partner were free to do as you choose, since you were neither married nor unmarried."

George and Angelina sighed in relief, gripping each other's hands thankfully. Hermione smiled slightly. At least one good thing would come of this law; luckily George had proposed to Angelina just last month. After Arthur's revelation, it was apparent that they'd be allowed to marry after all.

Harry, meanwhile, was gaping. "You mean – my mum and dad – they didn't really love each other?" he stammered. "They married because of a _law_?"

"No, no, dear," Molly hastened to reassure him. "Your parents found love in their marriage. The Matching has a sneaky way of doing that – it doesn't match by who would be the best pick to carry on a bloodline, it matches by who it thinks will be the most compatible in years to come."

"Oh," Harry muttered quietly. "I see."

"How come none of the old records mention any of this?" Hermione and Percy asked at the same time. A few of the Weasleys lets out startled laughs, but Hermione just shrugged. Of all the Weasleys, she and Percy had always been the most like-minded. It wasn't uncommon for them to express the same sentiment or thought at the exact same time. She waved him on.

"I've never seen any folders marked 'Blood Regeneration Clause,' in the Minister's office," Percy said haughtily. "Therefore this must be a ruse."

"Ah, Percy," George said into Hermione's ear. "He thinks if he ignores a problem, it'll go away. Quite precious, really." His lighthearted manner was offset by the way he still gripped Angelina's hands. "Congratulations, you two," she whispered. "I'm so glad there was a loophole for you."

"Yeah, so am I," George said fervently. "I lost Freddie…I can't lose Angie too."

"You won't lose me," Angelina promised in a low voice. Hermione stepped away as they made gooey eyes at each other. Just as they were about to start full-out snogging in the middle of the Weasleys' kitchen, a bright green lick of flame in the fireplace interrupted them. Seconds later, Neville Longbottom came spinning out.

"Sorry to interrupt, but did you hear?" Neville beamed as a second figure shot out of the fireplace and into his arms. "I just proposed to Luna – _and she said yes_!"

_()()()_

**Sorry about the random ending, guys. Lol. Oh yeah, I've got a little question. Who's your all-time favourite Weasley? Vote for your fave on my profile and we'll see who wins by next update :)**


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